


i dug a hole in the yard for you

by Duckyboos



Series: Profound Meetings [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Assassin Castiel (Supernatural), Assassin Dean Winchester, Assassins & Hitmen, Door-to-Door Salesman Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Duckyboos
Summary: Door-to-door salesmen are such a pain in the ass.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Profound Meetings [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820488
Comments: 71
Kudos: 279





	i dug a hole in the yard for you

**Author's Note:**

> Idea bastardized from a fun short story I read years ago!

Dean’s just about to head out when the doorbell goes. On an impatient sigh, he opens the door to a scruffy tax account type with a solemn expression and strong jaw, “Sorry, I don’t have the time for whatever you’re about to sell me.”

The dude stares unblinkingly at Dean, painfully earnest, “I won’t take but a minute of your time, Mr. Bonham.”

_Yeahuh._

“You got my name from the mailbox, huh?” At the salesman’s nod of confirmation, Dean tells him, “I’m not interested,” and he starts to shut the door, but the guy’s black briefcase blocks it.

“Mr. Bonham, I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Dean sighs. He checks his watch. He’s got just over an hour until he’s supposed to be collecting a new, more thorough dossier from the firm’s HQ, “What are you selling?”

“I’d rather explain it to you inside.”

Okay, that’s a hard _no_. “Actually, you know what? Never mind. I’m definitely not interested, Mr…?”

“Novak,” The guy says, all blue eyes and beguiling charm. “Castiel Novak.”

Huh. Interesting name. Dean bets there aren't too many Castiel Novaks about.

“I promise it’ll be worth your while,” Castiel assures him and Dean’s a soft touch for a pretty face.

“Fine.” He opens the door wider, “Come on in and tell me what _Mary Kay_ shit you’re trying to sell me.”

Castiel steps inside, briefcase, trenchcoat and all, and sits himself down on one of Dean’s pristine couches. Dean takes a seat in one of the loungers facing him, “Well, go on.”

“Mr. Bonham, I am in the mortality business.”

And the fascinating facts just keep piling up.

“Like cemetery plots?”

Castiel’s plush mouth twitches against a smile, “Not quite. No, I represent a firm that deals in discreet homicide.”

Oh. _Oh_. 

“Murder?”

“Yes.”

“An interesting way to drum up business,” Dean muses, “Going house to house like those old vacuum cleaner salesmen. Does it work?”

“My firm is new in the area and it seemed like a good opportunity.” Castiel tells him with a small smile, “I’ve had an encouraging amount of interest so far. After all, everyone has been in a situation that cannot be solved by conventional means. For a modest sum, we are able to remove those… difficulties that stand in the way of a more satisfying way of life for our customers.” He lifts the briefcase onto his lap, opens it, and takes out a leaflet. He slides it across the coffee table toward Dean. “We have testimonials.”

Dean stares down at the neatly printed lettering - _‘Have you ever wanted to take someone out? Here at Futures Ltd. we give you the opportunity to do it your way and to your budgetary requirements!’_

“How very late-stage capitalism of you,” Dean mutters wryly.

Castiel ignores him, “Is there someone in your professional or private life whom you consider to be a threat?”

“Plenty,” Dean answers honestly. In his line of work, it’s pretty much a requirement. 

“Well, we do offer a multi-kill discount of ten percent. And we also offer an additional five percent off if you’ll provide a testimonial.”

Dean’s interest is well and truly piqued now, “What are your standard rates?”

“Fifteen thousand as a base rate. But it does depend on the method.”

“Competitive pricing.”

“Indeed,” Castiel nods, “Have you already explored your options?”

Dean grins, razor-sharp, “Something like that.”

“Well, I can assure you that we offer top-tier service. It would be unwise to settle for anything less than the best in these circumstances. You wouldn’t want to end up with a botched job.” He leans forward in his seat, stage whispers, “Some of these other more established firms are resting on their laurels if you ask me. Their customer service could certainly do with a little recalibration.”

“That right?” Dean asks, “Any ones in particular that you’re thinking of? So that I know which ones to avoid next time I want somebody murdered.”

Castiel smooths down his tie, “Well I won’t be unprofessional and name names…” He trails off, “And anyway, you’ll be using us, surely?”

“Smooth,” Dean acknowledges. Reluctantly, he kinda likes the guy.

Castiel smiles. It’s a nice smile. “Should we get down to it then? I can take your details now and someone can call you to take payment?” He produces a gold-plated pen from his inside jacket pocket and a notepad from his briefcase. “Your name?”

“John Bonham,” Dean tells him.

Castiel scribbles it in the notebook without looking up. 

So not a Zepp fan then. Probably just as well. Though it’ll be a shame that he has to die before he’s heard Kashmir. It’s a classic.

“Occupation?”

“Police officer.”

The pen stops. Castiel looks up at him through sooty lashes. “You’re joking of course.”

“Of course.”

“I’m certain you realize - if you _are_ a police officer - that a charge of conspiracy to commit murder requires an overt act?”

“Dude, I’m not a cop.”

Castiel returns his attention to the pad. “No, but apparently you are a comedian.”

Sassy. Dean likes it. “I’m in the ‘mortality business'.”

“Another joke?” Castiel sighs.

“Nope.” Dean pops the p. “Bona fide.”

Castiel writes it down on his pad, “Alright. Vague, but it’ll do. Now I need the name of the subject.”

“Castiel Novak. C-A-S-T-I-E-L N-O-V-A-K.”

Castiel’s head jerks up. “This isn’t funny.”

“No,” Dean agrees, “But it is kismet, if you believe in that sort of thing, I guess.” He reaches into the top pocket of his overshirt for the briefing paper that contains nothing but a name and a few important details, “You’ve certainly saved me a lot of time and effort reading through the dossier the company I work for has on you. From their brief description in this, you’re quite difficult to pin down, I wasn’t looking forward to it at all.” 

Unfolded, he slides it across the coffee table.

Castiel doesn’t look at it, “You’re not joking.”

“No,” Dean confirms with an almost apologetic smile. He’s never felt crappy about having to kill anyone before. “Sorry, man. You pissed someone off. They were willing to pay the big bucks to have you, y’know--” He drags his thumb across his throat. 

Castiel’s on his feet in double time, pen angled in his palm like a knife, “They must have more money than sense then; I agreed to kill you for our standard rate, _Dean Winchester._ ”

Oooh, Dean loves a twist ending.


End file.
